Sour-faced Mack Donnelly wouldn’t know what hit him.
CHAPTER4
“There you are.” Jude Leblanc slid onto a creaking barstool just as an overflowing jigger of whiskey was placed on the sticky bar in front of Mack. “That better be for me. It’s my birthday, after all.”
Mack swung around and clapped Jude’s back with affection. “It’s all yours. Apologies for getting started without you, but a man can only sit at a full bar for ten minutes before the barkeep threatens to kick him out.”
Jude chuckled and tossed back the whiskey. “Good old Bertie. His threats are so cute.”
The barkeep in question glowered at them beneath his greasy circular spectacles.
“Careful,” Mack muttered under his breath. “The Unruly Otter might be a hovel, but it’s our hovel. I’m too set in my ways to get used to the cracked paint and cheap whiskey of another questionable establishment.”
Jude glanced behind him as a glass shattered on the floor, followed by a gruff apology. He nodded. “My mother always said wisdom comes with age. Maybe this is the year.”
“I wouldn’t hold my breath. Bertie, three whiskeys if you please.”
“Three more? So we’re tying one on tonight?”
“Don’t tell me you’re going soft on me. Besides, what else could a man want on his birthday other than strong drinks, old friends, and lively music?” Mack gestured to the smoky room and rickety tables cramped with various working-class men nursing mugs of watered-down beer on a Sunday night. He and Jude could afford a nicer location, but they’d been drinking there ever since they were students at the University of Washington. The nostalgia alone was worth clothes that reeked of cigarettes and deep-fried onions in the morning.
“Honestly, I’d trade you in a heartbeat for a lusty woman.”
Mack snorted. “I believe you, so let’s hope one doesn’t walk in the door.”
“As far as I know, The Unruly Otteronly repels women. But one can dream.”
The fresh jiggers were delivered, and Mack raised one in salute. “To many more birthdays. May your year be filled with fresh-faced daisies eager to be plucked. Oh, and damn you for not aging a day since graduation.”
They downed the whiskey. Mack barely paused for breath before knocking back the second.
“Jesus, what’s got your drawers wadded up?”
“I’ll give you one guess.”
“Ah, dear old Uncle Horace. The usual bullshit?”
Mack grabbed a handful of stale peanuts from the weathered bowl in front of him. “Worse. He said Emil might inherit, not me. In front of Emil.”
“Why the hell would that weasel inherit? You’ve put in more hours than half the staff combined.”
“Because he’ll do anything Horace demands.”
“You know what I think.”
“I do, but you also know why I can’t call it quits.”
Jude fingered a raised whorl of wood on the bar. “If your father were still alive, I think he’d want you to get out from under your uncle’s thumb and succeed at another newspaper.”
Mack shook his head. “I’d never rank high enough to make meaningful changes like I can at thePost.”
“I’m just saying that if he knew how much you’ve sacrificed your conscious to fulfill his dying request…”
“I admit it hasn’t been ideal, but I’ve poured my heart and soul into thePost.I truly believe it’s on the cusp of greatness, and I won’t abandon it now.”
“And if he gives it to Emil anyway?”
Mack’s throat closed at the thought. The truth was, he didn’t know who he was without thePost.If Emil inherited, Mack would likely be ousted outright or pushed so far aside he would become obsolete.Couldhe start again from nothing? He had the capital and the right connections…but it wouldn’t be his belovedPost.He blew out a breath and said forcefully, “The endwilljustify the means.”
